Seven o’clock and the sun has just risen over the Albanian mountains, catching the white headboard of a ferry out in the channel moving east for Athens or Igoumenitsa with a precious cargo of holiday makers, ready to spend their euros in the shops, hotels and restaurants of this troubled country.

There was an election here on Sunday–a critical one that could decide whether Greece stays in the eurozone–even whether the eurozone itself survives! But none of the razzmatazz and frenzy of an American or English election day.

Greeks we asked about it in Corfu Town summoned up little interest and we saw not a single sign indicating a polling station.

The Corfiots (the name the locals go by) we were told, leave town on a Sunday and head for their villages where they vote if they have a mind to.

Two friends who arrived from Athens reported the same thing in the capital; the town felt empty, they said.

Not much activity either in the Internet Café on the beach.

Just us and two busy swallow parents dashing back and forth under the beams of the terrace feeding their nest of youngsters.

(Our waiter told us it’s considered bad luck in Greece ever to remove a swallow nest.)

Only a scattering of sunbathers along the stony beach, making it feel more like the Costa Brava my parents took us to in 1953—unspoiled and beautiful.

But Lloret del Mar back then was supporting a mere five hotels and a few bars—nothing as remotely needy of tourism and trade as this beautiful part of Corfu today.